Meyer's Pride Construction, LLC's Employee of the Week

Since we are currently in the process of becoming a Home Depot preferred contractor, the folks at the orange home improvement place have required us to submit information, along with pictures, for all of our employees at MPC.

This allows a perfect opportunity for me to introduce you to some of our favorite people at MPC.


This weeks's MPC employee of the week is Hugo Salgado.



Hugo is 22 years old and moved to south Florida from Texas. He speaks very little English, so most of our communications are through body language and my small knowledge of the Spanish dialect.

Hugo is always smiling, and his favorite American phrase is "Hey Jason!" He enjoys futbol, and would prefer not to do fascia work on roofs.

From my Spanish interrogations, I have learned that Hugo is single, never been married, and is not even looking for a girlfriend. Did I mention that he smiles a lot?

MPC thanks Hugo for his hard work and dedication, and we are glad he is a part of our roofing team.

Another one bites the dust

Strawbridge is now married. The Halfway House, our name for our matchmaking Home which for years now has had a way of getting its inhabitants married off (c.f. Sheldon, Bulthuis, Nedelisky, Bintz, Borger, Rayburn, etc.) has now worked its matrimonial magic on its very own co-founder. The fellowship has been broken, even while a new one has been formed. We will do our best to continue the tradition of the Halfway House without the aid of our long time associate, Mr. Strawbridge, although fate has given us quite the challenge as our current project (i.e. Manville roommate) is Murray. Tough draw. We think the US had better chances of success in Group E this World Cup.

We are still enroute from Denver back to sunny yankee land, so we will post some pictures from the wedding upon our return. In the meantime, here is this Wedding Weekend in Numbers:

315 - the width in milimeters of the tires on the SUV we rented while in Denver.

109 - songs handpicked by Macey and us (at the request of Stephen and Elena) which were supposed to be the playlist used by the DJ at the wedding reception.

6 - songs that the DJ actually played from our list. This confirmed our distrust and dislike for most wedding DJ's.

8 - members of the mariachi band that played during the wedding ceremony. The music was very festive, and it made for a very unique wedding.

20 - dollars for the ticket that one of the Strawbridge uncles got for parking on the side of the road near the park where we played soccer. There were about 18 of us playing soccer, plus another 15 or so sitting under a tree watching. The suburban was right next to the tree. The officer offered no warning or a chance to relocate the car - he just walked up and wrote the ticket.

3 - times that we made the 45 minute drive to the airport in a span of 8 hours on Saturday night/Sunday morning.

4 - people that it took to eat one order of the apple pancakes at the Original Pancake House.

12 - Slurpies from the 7-11 after two days of playing soccer.

1 - woman who is as energetic, passionate, and quirky as Stephen. He found her. And we celebrated.

You Too, Part Two

I had another great "You too" moment today.

The Home Depot lady finished ringing up my order of metal drip edge and handed me my receipt.

Me: Thank ya ma'am.

Home Depot Lady: You too.

America's Most Wanted

1. Usama Bin Laden

2. LARRIONDA Jorge


Nationality: Uruguay
Role: Referee
Date of birth: 9 March 1968
Height: 176 (cm)
Weight: 74 (kg)
Referee since: 1 January 1998
First international : Chile v Bolivia (20 June 1999)
Place of residence: MONTEVIDEO
Country of residence: Uruguay
Mother language: Spanish
Other languages: English
Occupation: Clerk
General interests: Breeding animals (birds, dogs, parrots, etc)
Best memory: FIFA Confederations Cup France 2003 semi-final: France v Turkey; 2004 Olympic Football Tournament Bronze Medal Match: Italy v Iraq


Worst Officiated Game: USA v. Italy, 2006 World Cup

I've been there once, I think.

A common theme you may see running through this blog are the ways that I (and Brien) have discovered that South Florida is anything but the South. From the accents to the incredible number of Yankee and/or Red Sox car flags to the fact that we have to keep a short list of restaurants that serve sweet tea, one quickly realizes that the greater Fort Lauderdale area is not a member of the greater southeastern culture.

I have decided that "The South" for most people down here is the place they fly over to get to and from Florida to their homes/families up in the northeast, a place they have heard of, maybe even tried to imagine based on lyrical descriptions they hear from the country radio stations, but have never really ventured into.

A recent post by gillikin reminded me of a brief conversation I had recently with a parent of one of my baseball kids, which illustrates the above observation:


The mom: Thanks for coming to the tournament this weekend, Coach. The boys love having you.

Me: Sure thing, Mrs. X, I wouldn't have missed. The boys played well.

The Mom (noticing my Georgia license plate): Oh, are you from Walker, Georgia? (she said it in an excited, nostalgic kind of way, as if that was where she had grown up)

Me: Sort of, I went to school in north Georgia and lived there for a few years after college. Are you from there?

(I expected her to tell me that she had gone to high school in Rossville or Dalton or some coincidental connection like that. I was excited, my mind already imagining the southern hospitality that might result from this meeting - the family would have me over for grits sometime, and we sit together and work on our southern drawls and talk about college football and state's rights, etc.)

The Mom: No, I stayed in Alabama once.

Me: Oh.

At that moment I think I realized how many internationals must feel around us stupid Americans. They visit our church or social group, and we try to be relevant and establish commonality and act as if we understand the Ukrainian because we visited Moscow, or north German life because we flew through Frankfurt. Please.

So much for the grits.

My visit to the Readers Digest Large Print Edition Retirement Neighborhood

In case you couldn't read the numbers on the mailbox...

Why I can't stand the New York Times

We begin with a confession: we get the New York Times emailed to our inbox everyday. Part of our early morning ritual is to read through the headlines, including those of the Times, just to get a feel for the worldwide "office vibe." We don't think we need to explain what a longstanding and incredible reputation the Times has as an American media source, and we admit that they often have some interesting stuff in the art section and even in the sports section.

But when it comes to news and opinion, the Times sucks. Reading it makes us gag.

Case in point: Yesterday the U.S. bombed and killed the most feared terrorist in Iraq and, outside of Bin Laden, the most wanted Al Quaeda leader. This is huge. Probably the biggest thing since capturing Hussein. A major victory for the military, for the US, and for the war against terror.

Yesterday, good triumphed over evil. Yesterday, the world was reminded that people who kill for the sake of killing, who oppress their own countrymen and terrorize the citizens of other nations, who seek to oppose freedom, will not succeed.

You would not know it from reading the Times.

You don't even have to listen very hard to hear the pessimistic, whining, anti-Bush anti-America anti-success in this war negativity that oozes from just the article headlines in today's edition of the Times:


"After a Long Hunt, U.S. Bombs the Leader of Al Qaeda in Iraq" - i.e. It took us long enough, and in the end we just dropped some bombs (such a brutal way to go about things, we could have used diplomacy talks or something) like barbarians

"How Surveillance and Betrayal Led to a Hunt's End" - i.e. America may have gotten Zarqawi, but we had to lie and decieve to do it.

"Hatred He Bred Is Sure to Survive Terrorist's Death" - i.e. Killing Zarqawi didn't help things at all. It's no victory.

"Zarqawi Is Dead, but Weary Iraqis Fear the Violence Won't Subside" - i.e. Again, this is no victory at all. You, Bush and America, have just made it worse.

"Death of a Terroris: As Americans discovered earlier, it will take far more than the elimination of iconic leaders to stem the tide of the Iraqi insurgency and reverse the country's slide into civil war."

"Zarqawi's Life After Death: The decapitation of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi's terrorist network may indeed diminish its effectiveness, but we should not get our hopes too high."


That's why we can't stand the New York Times.



Footnote: For some positive opinions of yesterday's victory, check these out:

Zarqawi’s death is particularly welcome because it comes at such a distressing time in Iraq.

Killing Zarqawi is the equivalent of averting a Haditha every other day in Iraq, indefinitely

It would be underestimating the impact of Zarqawi’s death to say it is a major blow to al Qaeda in Iraq.

Complete coverage of Zarqawi's death

A Moral Victory
The meaning of Zarqawi's death.

World Cup Watch, Part 4

Among the players to watch on the US Men's National Team is one Clint Dempsey, an attacking midfielder who could (and should) play a major role in the US team's success in Germany. Some suggest that Dempsey (who played college ball in the great state of SC) has become such a success because of his "caprice," and his creative, sometimes "fluff," style of play is reminiscent of another US midfield, Clint Mathis (who also played college ball in the great state of SC - for the Gamecocks).

We, however, think Dempsey is the midfielder US opponents should fear because of his superhero alter-ego as the gangsta rapper Deuce. If you don't believe us, check it out here.


Don't be all treadin up on his pitch. Bee-otch.



Speaking of Gamecocks, how bout ol' Deuce giving us a shout out? Pretty clever lyrics, really, "more game than a gamecock." Sounds like it was written by a Clemson Tiger.

HD Monday's with Murray

Do not dissapoint, World Cup. Entertain the world, Germany. Play well, US Men's National Team. Be beautiful, soccer.

We are watching. In High Definition.

Meyer's Pride Construction - This week in numbers

800.72 – dollars worth of nails that Brien and I purchased at 9:30 Tuesday night. Apparently this is what roofing contractors do in your spare time once the season of American Idol has ended. 1¼” ring shank coil nails have been in short supply in Broward County for the last 3 weeks, even from the roofing supply companies, so when one of our roofing buddies called us last night and told us Lowes had just gotten a load in, Brien and I rushed over there and bought as many boxes as we could before Lowes closed. We left just enough for the other roofers to discover in the morning and be frustrated that there weren’t more.

3 – customers that have been drunk when I met with them.

4 – hours is all it took for Dave Page to change his mind from not being able to fly to Ft. Lauderdale for Memorial Day to calling us mid afternoon on Friday to let us know that he was in fact in the airport on his way here.

117 – minutes for me to remove and replace 40 feet of fascia boards along the back of a house we are roofing. This was physically the hardest I worked all week. I was dripping with sweat, covered in sawdust and roofing granules, and looking like I just survived WWIII.

5 – minutes drive between completion of said fascia work and beginning a round of golf with Brien and Jamey for Brien’s birthday. Exhausted, my goal was for my golf score to be lower than the number of minutes I had just spent doing fascia work. It was close.

50 – inches diagonally from one corner to the other on our new Panasonic Plasma HD TV. World Cup, we are ready for you.

7 – remote controls that now lie around our house, including 2 Direct TV, television, VCR, DVD, receiver, and the CD player,

6 – security cameras on the house that Dave Page and I estimated on Saturday. Dave is convinced that it was a drug house, given the neighborhood, the inhabitants, and the interesting “trinkets” inside the house.

0 – people that have waved at me when I wave at them while driving. Back home, everybody raises a hand from the steering wheel to greet an oncoming car or a pedestrian. Especially if you’re in a truck. Here, you wave at a guy walking in his neighborhood as you drive by, and he just stares at you with a bit of a scowl, as if he’s just seen an obnoxious alien or something.

93.1 – a local rock station that offered me $1000 dollars if I tune in to 93 Rock, get the song of the day, and then be the 9th caller after that song is played. A usual radio station gimmick, only this one I discovered because I received a telemarketing call at 8 a.m. from a woman (presumably from the station) bringing all of these exciting details to my attention. I’ve never, in my 26 years, received a sales call from a radio station asking me to listening to listen in. Whatever happened to just playing good music that people want to hear?

1,000,000 – times that Brien and I have wanted to cuss out, shoot, etc. the Pembroke Pines building department staff. They are the epitome of government bureaucracy that is slow and apathetic about, yes even hostile toward, customer service. They are inefficient and have made numerous mistakes on what should have been easy shingle jobs. They do not accept responsibility, but instead blame it on us, and being full of grace and mercy as Meyer’s Pride is want to be, we have numerous times swallowed our "pride", taken the hit and corrected their mistakes ourselves. We have paid fines for failing inspections we didn’t call for, rescheduled inspections that had previously been passed but didn’t get recorded in their records, fixed problems they had previously said were okay, and dealt mercifully with the snotty, condescending, make-one-comment-and-I’ll-pop-an-attitude-with-you ladies that make you want to pop a knot on their head big enough for a camel to suck. We will never do a job in Pembroke Pines again. Pembroke Pines is a municipality very much under the domain of the Prince of Darkness.

1 – lady sitting next to me in the Tamarac Bldg. Dept. who told me the little goalkeeper glove attached to my key chain was cute. The tiny replica goalie glove key chain came with the last pair of keeper gloves I bought. It is not cute. Roofing contractors are not cute. I have removed the glove from my key chain.

2 – times I laughed out loud at the ignoramus who took charge in one of the building department lines the other day. He had taken the clip board on which everyone signed in when arriving at the permit counter and was trying to figure out who was next in line. Ignoramus came to the Asian man sitting next to me, whose head was bowed and had apparently fallen asleep, and asked if this was him. The man was asleep, and didn’t respond. Ignoramus tried again. Still no response. This frustrated Ignoramus shoved the clipboard in the man’s face, literally 2 inches from his nose, and yelled “Si Senor is this you mi amigo?” The Asian man awoke, clearly startled at the loud voice, the clipboard in his face, and the fact that someone was speaking to him in his “native tongue.” He shook his head, looked at me (as I was laughing out loud) and shrugged his shoulders, and went back to sleep.

363 – miles driven. This does not include Murray’s Mileage, half of which was spent driving back and forth to Hell to visit with the Devil (see Pembroke Pines).

11 - inches from chin to the tip of the beard on the Jewish engineer that came to inspect a roof I am working to have replaced for a customer. A rather large man, with a digital camera hanging from a string around his neck and wearing some sort of Jewish looking garb, he had a very quiet, very raspy voice and said very little. As he walked along the ridge of the roof, I couldn't help but picture him with a violin, dancing lightly from one roof to another fiddling happily while the rest of the town sang along. I asked him if roof inspecting engineers made a lot of money. He didn't answer. I asked what he would do if he were a rich man. Either he didn't get the joke or hadn't thought about being a rich man as much as Tevye the Milkman. Oh well. La Kayim.

How to sell a roof to a drunk person

Perhaps it is the sweltering heat of the Florida summer that makes a cold drink look so refreshing ("I was hot, it was cold" - Krazy Karl). Maybe it's because hurricane season is nearly upon us, and the scary realization that some folks will not have their roofs repaired before the next storm comes through is more than they can bear. Or it could be that in a world where 1/5 the population is retired (i.e. does not work), the rule that 5 o'clock is the first hour of the day in which you can grab a beer is no longer in effect.

Whatever the reason, I have begun to run into an increasing number of drunk people on the job. Thankfully, I haven't caught our crews drinking on top of a roof (though I have heard of other companies whose salesman went on a customers roof and had a drink), although I have been tempted to brink a 6 pack of Coronas to Lupe, Victor and the boys as a thanks for the hard work they do.

No, the intoxicated folks I have encountered have been potential customers. Given my experiences, I now have determined at least 3 ways to gently handle drunk customers and still make the sale.

3. Stare directly at the drunkard. This was the approach I took when meeting with a customer at Panera bread. Actually, this guy wants to partner with MPC to do "literally hundreds of jobs in the next few months." This guy claims to have the network connections, and has created a contracting company and sold jobs under its name - all without a license. Whatever his story, when I sat down at Panera and realized he was already under the table, all I could do was stare directly at the guy as he spit out his story in slow, slurred, incoherent phrases.

Lesson learned - Panera's in south Florida do not sell sweet tea, but apparently they sell something even stronger to drink.

2. Ignore the drunkard and get straight to the paperwork. Earlier this week I swung by a house for a call back, where the folks I had previously met with decided to sign with us and needed the paperwork to get started. A man in his lat 20's answered the door, the son who still lives at home who to date has failed to launch.

"My parents are in the back, hold on a sec," he said.

I waited. I heard a door open around the corner and down the hallway. Rita emerged first, looking somewhat flustered, and in her very strong New York accent began to apologize and make excuses for not getting to the door right away. I was confused, but said nothing.

"My husband and i were in the back room looking a different paint colors. I guess the door closed without us knowing. We kind of got carried away back there and then we really got in to it," Rita informed me.

"In to the paint colors," her son clarified.

"Yes, Yes the paint colors," Rita said excitedly. She kept fluffing her hair and fanning herself.

Ed then emerged from the back room, his shirt off, a beer in his hands, and adjusting his shorts. At that point I wanted to run away. Instead, I opened my folder and began to pull out the papers to be signed. Ed went to shake my hand but missed. He then asked me to follow him upstairs where he could point out a few additional water spots that needed to be corrected. He slapped Rita on the butt as we walked by.

I tried to take Ed seriously as he discussed the different work that needed to be done, but he was drunk and kept repeating himself, and he concluded the tour with "J, you're a roofer. Do what you do. And I'll do what I do."

Lesson learned: At least in my mind, the famous Mr. Ed is no longer a talking horse.

1. If you can't beat the drunkards, join em. After measuring one house, I found the homeowner in teh back yard by his pool, knocking em back with his elderly father. These guys were actually not drunk, yet, so when they offered for me to grab a beer and join em, I figured what the heck. It was 5 o'clock there, and probably somewhere else too, so i wasn't too worried. Plus, if you join em early enough, neither of you will remember if they ever actually got drunk.

Lesson learned: Always join the homeowner for drinks after having measured the roof, not before. Alcohol and steep slopes do not go well together.

World Cup Watch, Part 3

A few of the folks who sit and talk regularly at the Manville Table have requested that I continue to highlight football players and teams in order to educate the not so soccer savvy public prior to the start of the World Cup. I aim to please.

So, class is in session.




Petr Cech. Goalkeeper for the Czech Republic, who are currently ranked 2nd in the world by FIFA. Cech plays professionally for Chelsea, a very talented and well financed English club who are basically like the New York Yankees of English soccer.

I choose to highlight Cech for several reasons.

1. He is a goalkeeper (just like me)
2. He is one of the best in the world, if not THE best (just like me). He was voted footballer of the year for the Czech Republic.
3. He plays for the Czech Republic, against whom the USA will play its first World Cup match on June 12.
4. His last name is the same as his country (pronounced Peter Check). If I were as cool as he, I would play keeper for the US national team and change my name to Jasn America. Or Slippry United States.
5. According to ESPN’s soccer website, Petr Cech weighs 13.2. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds pretty dang cool.

As for the game against the Czech’s, this will be a huge gauge of how good our US men’s team really is and how we will fare in this World Cup; if we can manage a draw or even a squeack out a win against the Czech Republic, we stand a good chance of making it out of Group E and into the bracket round of the tournament. An interesting match up to watch will be Czech’s Jiri Stajner, a forward, who could line up against the USA’s Steve Cherundolo, a defender. Both Cherundolo and Stajner play together professionally for the German club Hanover.

One final parcel of food for thought. Many people think the US has finally arrived in the soccer world. We’re currently ranked 5th, though we often play like we’re ranked 50th (see USA v. Morocco), but we are looking to build on our strong quarterfinal performance in the 2002 World Cup. On the other hand, the Czech republic is ranked 2nd in the World. The Czech Republic currently has a population of approximately 10.2 million. Going back to my earlier New York analogy, the metropolitan area of New York City boasts approximately 21.9 million people, which is twice as much as the entire country of the Czech Republic (for you people from the Blue States). Not that quantity ever necessitates quality, but it would seem our talent pool, resources, financial support etc. might be a little bit bigger? So marinate on that for a while.

Wednesday's Mith Wurray

Check out this nifty trick. Several of you have wondered what happened to this week's Monday's with Murray. Well, we missed it. But we found out that our computer has a "take the first letter of every word and flip it upside down to maintain a cool title for blog posts" button, which we just used. Granted, Wednesday's With Wurray would have made for a better illiteration, but the button doesn't understand that - it just does what it's programmed to do.

So, sorry for any trouble it has caused those of you for whom Monday's with Murray is a cyber shot of inspiration.

Who I'd most like to be when I grow up (currently)

They say he could be the man that will lead England to a successful World Cup run, much as he has captained his own Liverpool to their Champions League Championship last year and their recent FA Cup victory (which is the most recent source of my admiration). If you haven't seen or read the highlights of either of those games, you have not lived. He was brilliant in both, with two 35+ yard goals (or "absolute howitzers" as we like to call them) in the FA Cup, the second which came seconds from time and sent the game into overtime.

Pele says he is one of the best he's seen.

He's been a part of only one club, Liverpool, his hometown team for whom he has played since he was 9 years old (a loyalty that is rare these days of million dollar/pound contracts).

And his fiance looks like a Swedish Paris Hilton.


All good reasons why I'd like to be Steven Gerrard when I grow up. And by grow up, I mean when I turn 26 in August, because that's how old Gerrard is (as of a few days ago).

South Florida Soccer fans, a microcosm of American sports enthusiasts?

From The History of Soccer: The Beautiful Game, which Brien and I have been attempting to watch for the past few weeks (999 minutes is a lot of soccer). Perhaps this explains the lack of interest in the World's sport on the part of Floridians (and Americans):

"Americans have great difficulty understanding the attraction of soccer because American games can be segmented into individaul acation and individual statistics. Soccer has continual fluid action. American games are fairly high scoring, and nothing to nothing games are something you cannot sell in America." - Henry Kissinger

"They didn't undstand it. I mean I don't undstand baseball or basketball. The Americans were the same. They didn't undstand the offside law. They didn't understand most of the stuff they were watching. The only time they made noise was when there was a goal. That's as much as they knew about football." - George Best on the now defunct North American Soccer League.

South Florida Soccer fans, where are you?

In true Manville fashion I attempted to throw a Champions League Final party last night. Like years past, I invited everyone I knew (which is a substantially smaller crowd down here) to come to the house and watch the game, which I taped yesterday afternoon. It was BYOB, with an imposed alcohol limitation that required the beer you brought to be brewed in the country from which your team hailed (i.e. England or Spain) or the Champions League sponsor (let's hear it for Heineken as the new sponsor over last year's Amstel Light). I even made my world famous salsa.

We had 5 people, Brien, Jamey and myself included. Apparently soccer does not have the same appeal as in Chattanooga or Columbia. I can't even begin to count the number of weeknight games I watched with Noel, Elissa, Macey, Strawbridge and a host of others last year. Or the multiple nights I hosted slumber parties with jr. high and high school guys from our youth group so we could watch the World Cup games live in 2002. I had planned numerous World Cup 2006 parties here in the next month - we'll see how that goes.

Despite the fact that my team lost (hint hint I brought Newcastle), it was a good game, even with the early departure of Lehman and the equalizer from Barcelona that was questionably ruled onside. The defenses were impressive, and the superstars Henry and Ronaldinho were essentially shut down. Brien and I have decided that Ronaldinho is a brilliant footballer, but way too much of a showboat.

And watching him play again only further confirmed the fact that he looks like a horse. I believe I saw Ronaldinho canter at one point. How appropriate the ubiquitous pony tail.

We'd like to buy a vowel (or a moment of silence)

Last Thursday we flew from Birmingham to Orlando on Southwest, proud of ourselves for having found a ticket for under $100 that happened to fly from Bham (where we were visiting Caldwell and Co.) to Orlando (where our family was vacationing). As we waited to board the plane, we glanced around at the folks in the terminal and made mental notes of which people we wouldn't mind chatting with for the next 2 hours and which people we would definitely avoid buckling up with. Southwest has an open seating policy, first come first serve, so by the time we boarded the plane the only seats remaining were in the back, right next to several people that we had just minutes before noted we should NOT sit next to. Mission failed.

Our seat partners for the trip were two young girls, Mary Jane (as we'll call her - not her real name) who was 9 and her sister (who's name escapes me - we'll call her Delilah) who was 7. They had very strong southern accents. Their mother sat in the row in front of us. The rest of their group were three rows in front of us. We had seen their group in the terminal - they were a bunch of frantic mothers who could not keep up with their kids, very talkative and had never learned the meaning of "inside voices" (which in turn their children had failed to learn as well).

Shortly after take off, we heard Mary Jane's mother asking the people around her why they were flying to Orlando. The businessman next to her seemed as perturbed as we were, so we popped in our Ipod earphones and didn't wait to hear the answer. The inflight drinks arrived minutes later, however, and we were forced to shut off the Ipod for a few seconds. That was all Mary Jane needed. Sounding just like her mother, she asked us why we were going to Orlando. We explained. No sooner had we finished than Mary Jane began to tell us why THEY were going to Orlando, which we realized was the point of her question all along.

Turns out her mom had been on Wheel of Fortune a few weeks before, and had won a significant amount of money, along with a trip to Disney World. Mary Jane's sister leaned over and informed us that it was $16,500 that her mother had won, and that Vanna White is very pretty. Delilah didn't talk much, we discovered, but when she did it was always worth hearing. Mary Jane continued - her mom had made it all the way to the bonus round, but the word was a hobby that her mother had never heard of, so she failed to get the bonus cash. "Plus the only letter they gave her was G." We're curious what the hobby was.

Teasing, we told Mary Jane we didn't belive her. Mistake. In a flash she leaned over the seat in front of us, whispered something to her mom, and within seconds produced a newspaper clipping with a picture of her mother and a short paragraph detailing her recent Wheel of Fortune win. The newspaper was the Chattanooga Times Free Press. Mary Jane's sister leaned forward - "She is in 4 other newspapers too, would you like to see those?" Apparently they were prepared for doubters like us.

We asked if they were from Birmingham. They were not. They were from Cookeville, TN. Ah, Cookeville. We had just driven through their a week before with our sister. Mary Jane was suprised.

"You've heard of Cookeville?"

"Yeah, but we just drove through it."

"So did you stop at Restaurant Row?"

We had never heard of restaurant row. We could only imagine what it was. Mary Jane didn't wait for us to guess. She began to list for us all of the restaurants that were located in Cookeville. The number of restaurants reached around 35, and we returned to our Ipod.

For the rest of the flight, ever 5 minutes or so Mary Jane would yank the earphone out of our right ear and tell us the 2 or 3 more restaurants she had remembered were on Restaurant Row. We think the final count totaled around 200. This was one heckuva long Row. Our favorite restaurant was Toots, where apparently you can dine in old Southwest airplane seats and if you order a pound of hot dogs and fries, your kids eat free. Mary Jane tried to explain how Toots had to change their name because of problems with Hooters, but we got lost in that story and we're fairly sure she was making it up anyway.

At this point Mary Jane's sister nudged her and said "You sure do talk a lot." We couldn't have agreed more.

The flight attendant passed by and asked the girls if they needed anything else, maybe some more Dr. Pepper? Delilah's eyes got huge, and she nodded, then turned to us and excitedly whispered "This place has free refills!!"

In front of us, we saw the girls' mom opening a Bible and showing the man next to her. We heard her explain that this was a special Bible because the words of Jesus were written in red. The man seemed interested, and asked how she knew those where actually the words of Jesus. "Because they are in red," she responded. Of course.

Mary Jane asked us if we flew much. We told her we had, and listed all of the countries we had visited. She was impressed, and told us that she too was a world traveler. In fact, her daddy was a preacher man, and he traveled all over the place and often took here with him. We asked her where a preacher man from Cookeville, TN traveled, and she said she had been all over the world to places like Memphis, Graceland, Gatlinburg and Dollywood. It was our turn to be impressed.

The plane landed. Mary Jane and her friends 3 rows up chattered back and forth about Disney World as we waited to deboard the plane. Most of the passengers looked annoyed, and Mary Jane's mom finally tried to quiet the girls down. Somwhere between the newspaper clipping and the red letter Bible, however, the businessman in front of us had seen the light, so he quickly responded to Mary Jane's mother and said "Ah hell, let the kids talk. None of the adults on this plane are talking because they don't have anything intelligent to say, but these kids are just excited because they're going to see Mickey."

As we left the plane, Mary Jane shouted to us that there was also a Baskin Robbins on Restuarant row, but she wasn't sure if that counted as a restaurant.

Make that 201 restaurants.

Monday's with Murray

I don't really have any great Murray moments, oral or pictoral, to share today, but I didn't want the picture of my tonsils (see below) to be the top entry on this blog.

However, on the tails of my "Season One of 24 all day marathon" in Birmingham with Caldwell, Shleigh and Cheney, I have decided that I would like to start a new phenomenon. Perhaps you are aware of the Chuck Norris Facts phenomenon that has been sweeping the country over the past year.

I would like to start the Jack Bauer Facts phenomenon.

My reasoning is as follows. Jack Bauer is the star of 24. Chuck Norris is the star of Walker Texas Ranger. 24 is the best evening drama I have ever watched. The writing and production of 24 far surpasses Walker Texas Ranger. Therefore, Jack Bauer far surpasses Chuck Norris.

Some of you may find this sacreligious. I don't care. Jack's got my back.

You asked for it...

The readers of this blog have voted, and the decision is unanimous. Here are my tonsils. Please note, the white stuff on the back of the tonsils, as well as the size of the tonsils, is not normal.

Tonsilitis

We are currently in the midst of our week-plus vacation, during which we will see our sister and friends graduate from Covenant College, travel to Birmingham to spend a few days with some of the SB06 crowd at Caldwell's house, fly to Orlando to visit our family, and help coach our Surge team in a baseball tournament in Cocoa Beach, FL.

On Thursday of last week we began having a sore throat.

On Friday we began having a fever.

On Saturday the fever and sore throat were out in full force.

On Monday we went to the doctor because we feared death was imminent. He said we had tonsilitis. The antibiotics have finally kicked in, and we believe our body is on the mend.


Since this blog has become somewhat pictoral in nature, we are considering posting pictures of our tonsils. These pics are not for the weak of heart. Or stomach. Some of you may find this extremely, what's the word, gross, and so the question of whether we should post these graphic images is the subject of this week's MANVILLE TABLETALK POLL:

Should Sleuth post pictures of the inflamed, puss-covered tonsils on the blog?

Vote now.

You too

I once heard a comedian, I believe it was Brian Regan, do a stand up routine about how funny it is when we mindlessly use the phrase "you too" as a response to people every day. Sometimes it makes no sense, and yet out of habit we continue to use the phrase.

For instance, you tell the postman "have a good a good day" and he responds "you too." That's good usage.

Now consider: the waitress tells you to "enjoy your meal," and without thinking you reply "you too." What meal is she eating?
Or the guy in the toll booth tells you to "have a great stay in Florida" and you ignorantly reply "you too." He lives here!
Or the appliance man at Home Depot tells you "good luck with your new dishwasher" and you say "you too." Doubtful that he also has a recently purchased dishwasher.

Or the girl today in the pizza store. I was waiting in line for my lunch, observing the other customers and people watching (as I am want to do on occasion). The man in front of me, obviously in his late 40's, was currently flirting with the cute young cashier. He was telling her about his life in the corporate world, sadly attempting to flirt with the girl by simultaneously flaunting his acheivements while adoring her youth. She was eating it up.

As he walked out the front door, he looked over his shoulder and cast one longing look at the co-ed and teased, "have fun in college."

She flirted back. "You too."

Baseball is... (part 2)

...better than cow tipping?

How's this for the nadir of any team's season: Wofford (18-30) moved up the start of its Friday game against The Citadel to 5 p.m. so it wouldn't have to compete against a cow's bowel movements for local entertainment dollars.
Wofford's Moo-uau celebration divides up the school's football stadium into squares, which patrons purchase. Cash prizes are awarded based on which squares the cow marks.

"I don't know about that," Wofford senior Stephen Johnson told the Spartanburg (S.C.) Journal-Herald. "I've got to talk to someone about that. Cow bingo is more important than the baseball game? I don't know."

Baseball won in the end, as Wofford scored twice in the bottom of the ninth inning for a 5-4 win. Meanwhile, Lu Lu Belle the cow leapt a hedge and chain-link fence and no one was able to coax her back onto the field. Prizes were awarded by a random drawing.

Mondays with Murray

Baseball is...

Baseball is grass, chalk, and dirt displayed the same yet differently
In every park that has ever heard the words play ball.
Baseball is a passion that bonds and divides all those who know it.
Baseball is a pair of hands stained with newsprint,
A set of eyes squinting to read a boxscore,
A brow creased in an attempt to recreate a three-hour game
From an inch square block of type.
Baseball is the hat I wear to mow the lawn.
Baseball is a simple game of catch
and the never-ending search for the perfect knuckleball.
Baseball is Willie vs Mickey, Gibson vs Koufax, and Buddy Biancalana vs the odds.
Baseball links Kansan and Missourian, American and Japanese,
But most of all father and son.
Baseball is the scent of spring,
The unmistakable sound of a double down the line,
And the face of a 10-year-old emerging from a pile of bodies
With a worthless yet priceless foul ball.
Baseball is a language of very simple words that tell unbelievably magic tales.
Baseball is three brothers in the same uniform on the same team for one brief summer
Captured forever in a black and white photo on a table by the couch.
Baseball is a glove on a shelf, oiled and tightly wrapped,
Slumbering through the stark winter months.
Baseball is a breast pocket bulging with a transistor radio.
Baseball is the reason there are transistor radios.
Baseball is a voice in a box describing men you've never met,
In a place you've never been,
Doing things you'll never have the chance to do.
Baseball is a dream that you never really give up on.
Baseball is precious.
Baseball is timeless.
Baseball is forever.
- Greg Hall


The baseball team I'm coaching, Coral Springs Christian Academy, plays their rival Highlands Christian Academy in the District Championship tonight. This is like Covenant vs. Bryan or South Carolina vs. Clemson in the championship game. On paper we do not stand a chance - we start 2 seniors, 2 sophomores, 2 freshman, 3 eighth graders and a 7th grader (including our DH). Highlands starts 7 seniors, 3 juniors and has only 2 freshmen on their ENTIRE roster. Their faster, bigger, stronger, meaner, and did I say bigger (cf Friday Night Lights)? This is your classic underdog story, a made for movie matchup between the little guys and the baseball Goliath (see the pic below from an earlier game this year - our 2nd baseman and their 1st basemanr). We've played Highlands twice already this year and lost both times.

But we all know how difficult it is to beat a team three times in one season, and the beauty of baseball is that on any given day...

Roofs that MPC would prefer not to do...

See also: Noel and Elissa's roof.

A Day in the Life

The following is the first post on Brien's new blog.
We hope he will continue to update this blog regularly, but we won't be suprised if it falls dormant in the near future - not because of his lack of effort, but because of his lack of time. The following may explain our prediction:

"A day in the Life"

First real life experience blog written here.
It's a little rough - but I am in the middle of the work day.

Big Lunch
Yesterday was the first official company meeting (of my company).
6 sales guys were asked to meet at the office for lunch and a presentation from one of our major manufacturers. Three couldn't make it. One didn't answer the phone or show up. So we had 20 Panera sandwiches and 12 cookies and drinks and chips and 2 giant salads for me, 2 salesmen, and the manufacturer's rep.

Is Lupe there?
For the last three weeks my foreman has been calling asking for work, complaining that he has only had three jobs for the last three weeks from his other employer. I told him all my jobs were pending approval in the permit office.

Friday my first two permits were approved. Now the foreman's phone rings, and no one picks up.
I called his wife in Texas. Her English wasn't so good. And then Cingular dropped the call before I could give her my name and number.
And now I can't get a hold of her either.


Tracking down the mail carrier
I decided to save thirty bucks by mailing my notice of commencements into the county rather than have my permit runner service do it. The mail man collected it before 10 am, a little ahead of schedule.
Around 10am I realized one of the jobs with an NOC is in another county. And, as my permit service runner rep informed me, she needed it in order to pull the permit.
No big deal except the form has to be signed an notarized by the owner.
Actually, as of right now, it's a big deal.

Then Fed Ex shows up with a COD. I hadn't been to the bank yet, but the guy says he will swing back around before 1.
Works ok for me.

I set off to find the mail man and to go to the bank. After pulling out of my street, I saw him. Except it wasn't him. Same Post Service.
That guy told me about my mailman's route, and I set out to find him.
And didn't.

So I went to the bank.
Got the check.
Returned home.
As I pulled in Jason pulled out.
"Hey, the Fed Ex guy just stopped by 5 seconds ago."
I looked at my watch: 11:00.

I hope he doesn't come back at "sometime before 1."
I've still got to find the mail man, and I'd hate to miss the Fed Ex guy a third time.
Just tried Lupe again.

I'm starting to think I need a manager.

Monday's with Murray

Buoyed by the midweek victory against Lynn, the [Lauderdale Soccer Club] "Homeless" had to face United FC on just one day's rest, but this fixture earlier in the year had seen the United go down by 8-0 in Lauderdale's most lopsided victory of the campaign so far. It did not take long for Lauderdale's supremacy to show on the scoreboard. After 19 minutes, Dieujuste played Lormera near the touchline along the left. He cruised past his marker and stormed in on goal. Nearly running out of real estate, he fired from barely 1 yard out against a stationary GK Jason Hetzel.

LSC's own GK Saeben Gagnon was forced into a couple of difficult saves but made them look routine. Then ten minutes later, a pretty ball from Alerte bounced perfectly for Sidky who reached it just before Hetzel's fingertips could snatch it away. The big striker finished into the empty net, as LSC's forward partners, on pace for twenty goals apiece, both made amends for their midweek finishing woes. Just before the break, Hetzel injured his hand in a collision with his defender and the ball, which landed fortuitously to Petro for his first goal since February 5th.

In the second half, LSC made wholesale changes, and the side came out sluggishly. United jumped out with renewed vigor and grabbed a consolation goal after second half substitute GK Chad Stanford tipped a dangerous cross into the path of former Homeless, Renato Spanu for an empty net tap-in.

Lauderdale roared back with a delicious penetrating ball from JC Penagos into the path of an onrushing Brien Meyer who wrongfooted the United goaltender and finished cleanly into the side netting. On 78 minutes, Diego Rojas probed forward along the right and crossed beautifully to Milli Pasic, who posed for the cameras before blasting a picture-perfect side-volley into the empty net with his right for his first ever goal wearing the red and white.

Just moments from time, Brien Meyer chased a ball into the left corner and felt he was fouled. The official did not agree and kept playing, but rather than lose composure, Meyer timed his run perfectly and leaped above the defense to smash home a towering header off a gorgeous feed from Orlando Lawrence. That goal finished the scoring and gave Meyer three tallies in the last two matches.

- Lauderdale Soccer Club website

Easter at the Luthers, or Southerninity

Who needs an Easter egg hunt when you can do this instead?



Welcome to Easter [or insert any other holiday, birthday, or excuse to get together] at the Luther's.

To explain the above picture, we offer an excerpt from Caldwell's recent musings on this Easter at the Luther's. Note that Noah is the one across Papa's knee on the front tractor. Also, when did Dadu get so big?

"I feel like no words can appropriately describe that moment when I was flying from bump to grassy bump in your grandparents front yard clinging for my life to the steering wheel of the old lawnmower with your papa occasionally looking back at us and laughing . I'm pretty sure he was trying to throw us off. It was so much fun though. I'm pretty sure it was Noah's idea too; you should have seen his little face light up when he got on that lawn mower!... Man, you've just got to have times like that - when you ride a lawnmower to the back of the tractor and then go get a cold glass of sweet tea; I like to think of it as a time of Southern revival, reconfirming my Southern identity ... which I have renamed Southerninity."

And now for a ManvilleTabletalk poll:

Which Murray would you rather spend your Easter with? The lawnmower Murray pictured above, or the seersucker Murray pictured below?

MPC Tour, Week 4

This past weekend The Tour traveled to Oaktree Country Club, and most of the players agreed that Oaktree was by far their favorite course to date. The course is much nicer than the previous Colony West and Margate Executive stops, with nicely kept greens that are fast and undulating. The fairways are tree lined and narrow, with water on several of the holes, including a Par 3 16th which Jamey noted looks strikingly similar to Augusta National's 16th. Locals say that this course will be a challenge for even the most experienced golfer. And with the loser having to buy the winner's round of golf, the stakes were even higher.

The locals proved correct. True to form, Jamey took an early lead out of the gate, winning the first skin before Jason could manage to pull even and then pass Jamey for an early 5-2-0 lead. With 2 skins on the line and a chance to head out from the front nine with a five hole advantage, Jason choked and three putted on the 9th green. Jamey had battled back from an errant second shot that put him in the bunker, but with a spectacular chip and putt, Jamey took the 2 skins. It looked to be another 18 hole battle between Jason and Jamey.

Then the unthinkable happened. Brien came blazing out of the gates on the back nine to win 10, 11, and 12 - his first three skins of the tour and was suddenly challenging for the lead. This proved to be unnerving to all the participants, particularly Jamey, who managed to lodge his pitching wedge in a beautiful tree lining the fairway on 13. Brien's sudden success also rattled Jason, feeling the pressure of possibly having to buy Brien's round of golf (a bet he had previously thought was un-losable).

Jason and Jamey both gathered themselves, however, and Brien soon found his old form, and by the last hole Jamey and Jason were knotted at 7 skins each. With Brien behind by 4, the Tour Committee decided to make the final hole interesting, increasing it's value by 3 skins, thus elevating it to the rarely seen status of a Four-Skin hole. This "next shot wins" opportunity meant that whoever took the Four-Skin would be the winner. The Par 5 18th proved to be too much Four-Skin for the competition, however, and showing the grit and determination that has propelled him to his current lead atop this year's winnings, Jason holed a difficult 10 foot putt and managed to win his 4th game in as many outings.

Despite the familiar ending, this game was anything but usual, and the players are eager to return Oaktree in the future: Jason to defend his title, Jamey to challenge, and Brien to find Jamey's pitching wedge in that tree.



Season skin totals:

Sleuth: 28 skins
Jamey: 20 skins
Murray: 3 skins
Kit: 1 Skin

Victories:
Sleuth - 4
Jamey - 0
Murray - 0
Kit - 0

Reason #72 why I believe owning a grocery store is not profitable...

Monday's with Murray

Happy Easter.

WSJ Opinion Journal

Some headline highlights, courtesy of James Taranto and the WSJ Best of the Web daily blog (comments prior to headline are Taranto's):

'Io Non So Ben Ridir Com' I' V'intrai'
"Investigator: Dante's Fire Accidental"--headline, Spartanburg (S.C.) Herald-Journal, April 13

'Not Bad for a Guy Who Hasn't Had a Beer in 20 Years'
"Bush impresses Brewers with demeanor, competitiveness"--subheadline, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, April 11

Why It Takes So Long to Get a Letter Typed at the Vatican
"Pope No Longer Racing Secretary"--headline, Daily Racing Form, April 12

Who Built a Jail Up There?
"Boulder Woman Jailed Over Garage Door"--headline, KMGH-TV Web site (Denver), April 13

Thanks for the Tip!--LXV
"Health Tip: Prevent Food-Borne Illnesses"--headline, HealthDayNews, April 12

But Not All of Them
"Experts Agree They Disagree"--headline, Herald News (West Paterson, N.J.), April 14

What Would Katie Do Without Tom?
"Tom: Yes, Katie Can Make Noise During Birth"--headline, MSNBC.com, April 13

Big Deal, So Can a Drunken Sailor
"Student Can Recite Poem With Profanity"--headline, Associated Press, April 14

Ping-Pyong Diplomacy
"US Envoy Says Ball in Pyongyang's Court"--headline, Reuters, April 11

What Would Maggots Do Without Experts?
"Experts Fly In for Maggot Summit"--headline, Manchester (England) Evening News, April 11

Thanks for the Tip!--LXIII
"Health Tip: Pay Attention to Your Child's Teeth"--headline, HealthDayNews, April 11

'It's Mullah Time'
"Rise of Hamas Concerns Brewers"--headline, USA Today, April 10

Doesn't Being Chief Justice Give Him an Unfair Advantage?
"Roberts Joins Judge Contest"--headline, Columbia (Mo.) Daily Tribune, April 7

It's Lucky for Him He Didn't Charge Both of Them
"Orlando Officer Who Used Taser Gun Not Guilty on One Battery Charge"--headline, Associated Press, April 7

Prayer and Law School

"I the Lord do not change." (Malachi 3:6)

"My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused." (Hosea 11:8)

There is the old Christian cliche that teaches us God's 3 possible responses to our heavenly petitions: Yes, No, Not now. If this is the case, then my current situation with law school applications has fallen exactly in line with how it is supposed to be.

First, Ole Miss said yes.
Second, Notre Dame said no.
Third, Catholic University, Pepperdine, William & Mary, and Georgia all said wait list.
South Carolina is off doing its own thing. Go figure.

This perspective of prayer, however, is increasingly troubling to me. From a human perspective, it easily and I suppose logically separates answers to prayer categorically - in a sense there really are only 3 possible answers. Ultimately, though, I think this makes prayer too much of a "1-900 Divine Help Hotline," where our prayers are simply requests that must be answered definitively, without much thought of the relationship between the petitioner, the petition, and the one being petitioned. After, all, aren't there other "helpful" easy-evangelical ways to think of prayer, you know, like the way your youth leader taught you to make sure all of your prayers contain petitions, but also prayers of supplication, intercession, adoration, thanksgiving, etc.?

For instance, it would seem rather akward if I were to praise and thank God for His majesty as displayed through the glorious sunsets I see so frequently in south Florida, and for God to "respond" with "Wait." Or if I were to ask God to grant grace to my sisters as they seek to glorify Him with their summer plans, and He answer "No."

Prayer, then, is much more than a game of yes or no questions to be answered. I'm beginning to think that prayer is much less about getting a straight answer from God, and much more about getting our selfish wills straight with God's perfect plan. It's less about testing God and more about trusting Him. Prayer is not a way for me to tell God everything I want/need and then hope that He gives it to me, but a way for God to tell me what I need/want and through that communion receive the Spirit's enabling towards that end. Prayer is more like sitting down for a long afternoon conversation with God and hearing him slowly reveal his will, rather than pestering Him constantly for a quick and easy answer. I'm still learning what that means. In the meantime, here's what two of my more favorite theologians have to say:

"It is true, nothing we can say can have any influence upon him, or move him to show us mercy, but it may have an influence upon ourselves, and help to put us into a frame fit to receive mercy." Matthew Henry

"God is sometimes represented as if he were moved and persuaded by the prayers of his people; yet it is not to be thought that God is properly moved or made willing by our prayers"; instead, God bestows mercy "as though he were prevailed upon by prayer." Jonathan Edwards

Mondays with Murray('s mom and brother)

Murray's Mom: "I love spending money on new appliances and new household stuff. Especially when it's not my money."

Brien's mom is here. His brother Kit is in the house on his spring break. Things are happening.

Here's what has happened since they got here on Friday afternoon:

We have a new oven
We have a new dishwasher
We have new kitchen cabinets
We have a new toilet in Brien's room
We have new rugs in the two living rooms
We have a the Direct TV set up for the bigger living room
We have wall pictures all over the house
There are new coat racks and key chains holders by the front door
There is a new white board on the Wall of Fame

This is Monday morning. I think we will have a new house on a new golf course by Friday.

The MPC Tour Update

The MPC Tour made its second stop this year at Colony West in lovely Tamarac, Florida. Here is today's leaderboard, followed by the season totals thus far:

Sleuth: 83, 11 skins
Jamey: 91, 5 skins
Murray: 97, 0 skins

Season skin totals:

Sleuth: 20 skins
Jamey: 13 skins
Murray: 0 skins

A day in the Fort Lauderdale ghetto

Tuesday saw the full spectrum of socio-economic lifestyles in the 25 mile radius in which MPC operates.

I began the morning on top of a tile roof in a small enclave of Carolina, a marvelous planned community just miles from our homoffice that situates most of the beautiful homes around a pristine golf course (even in prosperous south Florida, the residents long for something more glorious, more peaceful, more heavenly, and they wishfully name their communites after those dreamy places). The homeowner is in his mid-30's, works at his own liesure, and was more concerned about his new puppy hunting dog that he was the thousand $$ roofing job. His living room was decorated with numerous hunting "trophies," and I later found that he takes yearly pilgrimages to the promised land to hunt in Barnwell, South Carolina. This man was not hurting for cash.

I then traveled only about 10 miles (as the crow flies), where I measured several large duplex homes. None of the residents owned the homes, and most didn't even know who the landlord was or how to reach them.

It was not uncommon to see something like a 100 ft. coaxial cable, exposed and above ground, stretched from the tv, out the livingroom window, through the sunroom, around the shubbery bed, across the backyard and straigh to the neighbors cable box, where Resident 1 was presumably "borrowing" Resident 2's cable access (see picture). Brilliant.

I knocked on one of the tenant's doors. The window was open, and inside I could hear the television broadcasting its quality afternoon programming, while several young children argued over a game they were playing. Upon my knock, they all began to chatter loudly and I could hear them clawing and fighting their way around each other and over the furniture as they tried to be the first to get the door. The undiscernable, ebonical noise reached a feverish pitch, highlighted by an older woman yelling from a back room of the house. At the peak of the yelling, I noticed the blinds part, and a little boy peaked through and started straight at me, and then disappointingly (and yet with a bit of suprise) announced to the house: "Ah, its just a white man."

Signing off,
just a white man

Reflections on the NCAA Tourney

These are not my words, but for someone as competitive and emotionally involved in most sports as I am, the following thoughts ring true, and also cut to the quick. His prayer is mine.

"The thrill of victory abounds in the NCAA men's basketball tournament. But sometimes it's the agony of defeat that sticks with you.

Duke senior J. J. Redick and Gonzaga junior Adam Morrison grabbed the headlines all year as they battled each other to lead the nation in scoring. Morrison invited comparisons to other rangy forwards with smooth jumpers. Redick broke all sorts of records with a shot that surprised you if it didn't rip the net. Sports Illustrated posed the two back to back on its March 6 cover and asked, "Who's the Best?"

But those stories were just appetizers for the sport's annual feast, the Big Dance. Both stars had something to prove in the tournament. Gonzaga had disappointed the last couple years after shedding their underdog reputation and earning high seeds. Duke expects all its stars to win at least one national championship. But Redick's teams had not yet translated ACC accolades into NCAA success in his first three tourney tries.

Neither will be leading his team to the Final Four this weekend. The thrill of George Mason has replaced the agony of unfulfilled potential. Last Thursday, Redick couldn't shake LSU's athletic defenders. Morrison couldn't stop his team from blowing a 17-point lead. Neither could fight back tears when faced with the end of their college careers. Redick's face reddened and his eyes welled when Coach Krzyzewski pulled him from the game with a few seconds left. Morrison's mouth contorted with pain as UCLA took the lead. After the final buzzer, he crumpled into a heap and bawled on the hardwood. He needed his opponents—subjects of his infamous trash talking for 40 minutes—to cut short their postgame celebration and pick him up.

Not all of us grieve our life's most painful moments before a live national audience. We're the better for it. The same media that touted this two-man contest turned on its fallen stars. ESPN the Magazine columnist Bill Simmons wrote, "During this year's March Madness, we've seen more bawling than in the entire 1993 season of Sally Jesse Raphael." Loud voices on talk radio expressed no little glee as they brandished their own machismo and criticized the show of emotion. The Chicago Tribune offered a subtle dig as the newspaper played on an opponent's nickname. "Redick disappeared for the third time in four Sweet 16 games in his ballyhooed career," the newspaper observed. "He hit just 3 of 18 shots as LSU, led by its own "Big Baby," Glen Davis, toppled the nation's No. 1 team 62-54."

The on-court emotion showed only part of the shock and pain these two endured after realizing they would never reach their goals. Redick and Morrison wore their school colors with pride. They were the face of their schools. But no more. They will never again play with such close friends to the raucous cheers of their classmates. (Morrison is expected to leave school early and enter the NBA Draft.) I only played high school football, but I'll never forget my last game. On a wet, fog-obscured night, we lost the regional championship to one of our closest rivals. I etched the evening's finality in my memory by tossing my mud-caked cleats into the locker-room garbage. I don't remember if I cried, but it hurt. I spent years training and dreaming about my senior year. In a moment, it all ended.

Sports take us through emotional peaks and valleys. Christianity, too, stirs the affections. Scripture teems with visceral emotion. The exiles mourned when they lost Jerusalem, the very home of God. "By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion" (Ps. 137:1). Paul poured his soul into the beloved churches he planted and encouraged. And despite the hardship inflicted on him by his fellow Jews, he never got over their rejection of Jesus. "I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race, the people of Israel" (Rom. 9:2-4).

I only pray we all have something—much more important than basketball—that we cherish so dearly that losing it would bring us to tears."

There IS Crying in Basketball. If only we all had something so precious to weep about.
by Collin Hansen
Christianity Today

Golf

Golf is a weird game, if you really stop to think about it. Go ahead, stop to think about it for a minute. While most sports include some sort of "ball", golf falls in the category of sports which require the use of an additional object that is used to direct or guide or manipulate the ball. Unlike hockey, lacrosse, or even baseball and cricket, golf is by far the least "contact" sport of them all. This explains its wide age range of players. It's also a fairly expensive sport, with a decidedly "upper class" flair to it. It's also the only sport I know of that businessmen and executives will play during a meeting. But I guess what gets me most is just the idea of it all - the fact that we would pay lots of money to stand several hundred yards away from a hole in the ground of about 108mm wide, and hit a small ball as hard as we can with some metal sticks and try and get it in the hole while avoiding trees, lakes, streams, large piles of sand, hills, etc. Its weird, but there is also something beautiful about it.

This morning at 8:50, Meyer's Pride Construction hosted its first Skins Game. The field was small, only three competitors, compared to the usual four. The course, Colony West. The weather was beautiful, a cool 74 degrees all morning. The competition was tight and full of drama, with the outcome hanging in the balance until the final putt on the 18th hole. I believe a good time was had by all.

We hope that this can become a regular monthly outing, a tradition unlike any other. For now, I was just content to be in the beautiful outdoors, surrounded by hundreds of roofs with blue tarps but not caring a bit about them.

In other news, Jamey has just become the first person I have ever met to go the dentist, only to have the dentist tell him to quit brushing. Apparently he brushes his teeth as hard as he hits a golf ball, and he is danger of a receding gumline and possible "bone damage." I believe the exact term was a "gum divot."

You might be a Hebrew hick if...

In my current slow but steady trek through the pages of Genesis, a thought occurred to me yesterday that I have been chewing on ever since.

I believe that I stumbled across the first (and maybe only) Hebrew redneck worthy of Jeff Foxworthy approval. Esau the Stable Guy.

Here's why i'm willing to grant Esau redneck status:

Esau loved to hunt, and he was a man of the earth.

His nickname was "Red." This is in part because of his thick hair, not just on his head but "all over like a hairy garmet."

He gave up the money his old man would have left him for a bowl of soup. Lentil soup, actually, which is like the Hebrew equivalent of the Ramen you can buy at Walmart for 15 cents. Probably went down like this:
Esau: "Hey man, lemme have a swaller of that there stew ya got cookin there."
Jacob: "First give me the deed to the double wide and the keys to Daddy's F-150 that you'll get when the old man finally kicks it."
Esau: "Gah dang man I'm so hungry I could eat a horse. Aaight, you gimme some of that there soup, I'll give ya them deeds and keys. Shoot man, what the hell, you gimme that whole pot and I'll give ya them new tires I been meaning to put on that truck. Now get r done, man."
Jacob: First swear to me.
Esau: Look here you @*!# piece of *$#!. Gimme that soup 'fore I kick your ass so hard you'll have to drop your pants just to chew your food.

His nickname was Red. This is also because of the color of the soup. This is like calling a guy Bud because of what he drinks.

Esau lived at home until he was 40.

Esau married two girls at once.

Then Esau married a few more times.

Jacob and Esau were prophecied to be two nations struggling against each other. Esau was the Southern nation.

There's a lot more, but I'll leave it at that for now. To conclude, here is a picture of what I imagine Esau might have looked like, were he to have gone to the racetrack one day.

Monday's with Murray

Murray: "And that's just the Visas..."

What do Kiera Knightley and Daler Mehndi have in common?

This is a question I lay in bed pondering each night until I fall asleep. Actually, tonight is the only night i've ever thought about this, and it's only because of some quick Google research I just did.

Preface: As I was working on some stuff earlier this evening, I turned on the tube for some background noise, hoping to find a good history channel special or the animal planet marathon. Instead my channel surfing stumbled across a video starring my favorite actress. Keira Knightley. Bend it Like Beckham has been on my list of must see movies for a while, not because I had to see the move, but because I must see Keira. Perhaps its because she's cute as a button (or as Dave Page says, superfly). Perhaps its because of her cute accent. Probably its both. Either way, Keira Knightley is must see TV.

The movie was not that great. I kept working, looking up only when I heard her voice. But then I heard something else, music that made my ears perk up like a watch dog's. It was Indian pop rock. It was Daler Mehndi.

As it turns out, it probably wasn't Daler Mehndi (though I haven't searched deep enough into the Bend it Like Beckham credits to see). But it definitely was bhangra music, a type of Indian harvest folk dance music, which apparently has seen quite a revival in recent years thanks in huge part to Daler Mehndi and his blending of this folk music with upbeat hip hop rhythms.

For those of you unfamiliar with Daler Mehndi, check out one of his popular music videos, Tunak Tunak Tan, and then try to imagine what life were like if 35 wild college males, all living on the same hall, were to adopt this as their "daily soundtrack" and incorporate it in every aspect of life, from skits to walk-off's to naked dance parties to study music. Welcome to life on Second South. Those were the days...

For those of you who know firsthand the Daler way, I bring you glad tidings of great joy. The Daler Mehndi Fan Club is giving you the opportunity to be the Dalerious DJ ”M” by hosting a TUNAK TUNAK TAN REMIX CONTEST. They are taking your entries now.

Life is good.

Also, apparently we are not the only ones to have learned the Tunak dance and recorded it on video.

Business at MPC is really good...

...so I bought a new car.

Here it is in my driveway this morning.

Actually I'm just kidding. That is not really my car. I don't even own a car. I own a truck. My truck is in the shop, however, having the engine worked on, so they gave me a rental car for the weekend. This is it. Sure beats your Sebrine, huh Marshall Rowe?

Vengeance is Allah's

The fighting Gamecocks of the University of South Carolina upset Cincinnati in the basketball NIT quarterfinals tonight. Some will argue this is because two of Cincinnati's starters were declared ineligible 2 hours prior to the game.

One of the starters who was not allowed to play is named Jihad Muhammad. With a name like that I would have declared him ineligible too, mostly for homeland security reasons.

I can only hope, for the safety of Carolina fans everywhere, that Jihad Muhammad takes losing better than I do.

Topographic Variety

My conversation in line at the USPS yesterday:

Me: (to the cute latino girl working behind the counter) That's a beautiful name.

Carolina (the cute latino USPS employee): Thank you.

Me: That's where I'm from, so I'm a bit partial. (she smiled shyly, but I could tell my charm had won her over)

Carolina: Ahh. So why are you in Florida.

Me: Roofing. Business.

Carolina: So you are making lots of money?

Me: Hopefully. (I was hesitant to answer - I didn't want her to love me simply for my money)


Pause in the conversation as she gets my stamps.


Carolina: Will you ever go back?

Me: To Carolina? Oh yeah, most definitely.

Carolina: You do not like it here? Why not? It is so nice, we have beaches .

Me: Yeah, but its just too bland here. I love it at home. We have beaches in Carolina, but we also have forests and mountains and lakes and rivers and colors and smells that Florida doesn't have. And space, we have a lot more space. Everything is crowded here.

Carolina: (laughing) We have mountians. Just drive down Sample and you will run into a Mountain.

Me: That is not a mountain.

Carolina: Sure it is.

Me: Well, south florida doesn't have seasons. I mean, its still officially winter and its 74 degrees outside.

Carolina: Ok. You win.

Me: Do you have any free stamps?

Carolina: (wink) nope.


And that is how you flirt with a postal worker.

On being a salesman

Being a salesman requires a certain sort of charisma and charm. It requires that you be good at the art of "small talk. It requires a sixth sense of being able to pick up on little bits of information unknowingly supplied to you by the people you are trying to sell to and turning that information into conversational topics that slowly earn you confidence and trust in the mind of the customer. It requires you walk a fine line between humor that puts your customer at ease and humor that makes you look pathetic. It requires that you lead the customer to a decision, rather than push them there. A good salesman should be able to anticipate the customers questions and concerns and confidently answer them without sounding like a condescending jerk know-it-all. Patience and Persistance are salesman virtues.

I'm not sure if I possess these qualities. But I'm working on it.

My sister, Ashleigh, and my friend, Tricia, went to the Phillipines last summer. This is important info because it works its way into what I call my "experiences that I can share to help build confidence and relationships to get sales repertoire."

Pictured below is Victor and Maria. I sold them a roof. Maria is a 3F person. Filipino, Fiesty and Friendly. I called her Ate Maria. She liked that. While I tried to explain the legal mumbo-jumbo of our contract to her husband, she kept bringing me magazines with Filipino male models, explaining to me how beautiful they were and pointing out the ones that she thought I resembled. Her husband told me I should take my roof earnings and move to the Philipines, where I would live like a rock star.

I used Shleigh and Tricia's experiences in Manila and Los Banos to gain her favor, which in turn encouraged her and her husband to sign my papers. I am slowly becoming a good salesman.

Monday's with Murray and GW

I was sitting at the BFD doing some work when Brien entered the office with the mail. Without saying a work, although I could hear him smiling, he plopped a small wooden gavel down on the desk (pictured below) and handed me a handful of papers, which included a picture, an award, and the following PRESS RELEASE:


FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

BRIEN MEYER APPOINTED TO BUSINESS ADVISORY COUNCIL

Washington, D.C. – The National Republican Congressional Committee announced that Brien Mayer has been appointed to serve on the Business Advisory Council (BAC) in recognition of valuable contributions and dedication to the Republican Party.

Meyer will serve the state of Florida and is expected to play a crucial role in the Party’s efforts to involved top business people in the process of government reform.

The Business Advisory Council is part of the National Republican Congressional Committee, and is dedicated to making sure that small business has a voice in Washington.

Meyer, who has long supported Republican ideals, particularly debt reduction and tax reform, will be a key member of the Council.


Lest you accuse me of joking, I have included pictures as proof that I speak truth.

This also reminds me of one of 211’s most memorable quotes, which to this day Stephen Strawbridge loves to recall. During our sophomore year of college (2000-2001) Brien Meyer was overheard talking on the telephone in his closet office, firmly chastising someone on the other end of the line by saying “I don’t care who he’s running against, George Bush is a good man!”

Meet Murray, my yellow dog Republican friend/roommate/landlord/partner.

Things that unnerve me while standing on the edge of a 10ft. roof...

Things that unnerve me when I'm driving my truck...

Show us the money

Today was an important day for MPC. Actually, yesterday was also important, and helped prepare the way for the important day today. Yesterday we finally purchased our liability insurance. We are now fully legit and ready to do business. This was important for numerous reasons, perhaps most importantly because we can now receive leads from our leads companies. Since Monday afternoon the leads have been pouring in.

Because of these leads, we were able to accomplish something that no one in the history of MPC has done to date - collect a check. Yes, after months of expeneses and billls, MPC has finally begun to get some income and revenue. woohoo.

Here is the Sleuth with the check.


and here is Murray preparing to do submit our first insurance claim, as a result of the Sleuth's sale.


Floridians, prepare to be served. Insurance companies, prepare to be pestered. Roofs, say hello to ol' Slippery. Life outside of work, prepare to suck.

Monday's with Murray (and Hansel)

Normally, on Monday's I put pictures of Murray on here because of his inherently photogenic nature. He is pictured here with my sister, Shleigh, who is also pretty dang cute on camera.

However, neither can compare to my male model friend, Hansel Pharaoh. He's so hot right now.

An ode to SB06

Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred mind Is like to that above.

Before our Father’s throne We pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one Our comforts and our cares.

We share each other’s woes, Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows The sympathizing tear.

When we asunder part, It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart, And hope to meet again.

This glorious hope revives Our courage by the way;
While each in expectation lives, And longs to see the day.

From sorrow, toil and pain, And sin, we shall be free,
And perfect love and friendship reign Through all eternity.

Look away, look away, look away Dixie land

I received my first letter of acceptance/denial for law school. As they would have it, the folks at the University of Mississippi have extended the hand of fellowship and have graciously asked that I attend their law school this fall. Although Ole Miss was not my top choice by any means, it is nice to know that I have a fall back school, and it is somewhat a relief for the waiting game to finally be broken.

Some would say that Ole Miss is in fact a perfect fit for me:

1. It's Deep South.
2. They appreciate their college football.
3. I already dress like an Ole Miss boy.
4. The school is in Oxford.
5. They are Rebels.

I do not disagree with these things.

While we're on the topic of acceptance letters, my sister Jennifer has also been accepted to another school - this one a little more prestigious than Ole Miss.
And Brittany is going to Covenant next fall.

Them Luthers are getting ejumucated.

SB06

Working for yourself makes you feel young. What I mean is, because we at Meyer's Pride basically set our own schedule, Brien and I are looking forward to being able to take off a goodly portion of next week to entertain some out of town guests.

How does this make you feel young, you ask?

By out of town guests, I mean 14 college students (my sister and friends, Brien's sister and friends) on spring break staying in our humble mansion. By taking off work to entertain, we enter in to their world, thereby reliving and experiencing vicariously through their visit the whole phenomenon known as spring break.

Being in construction sales is like Old School for the working man - all of the fun of college, with none of the entangling comittments of the real world.

Roofs of Florida, I promise to revisit your well being next week. In the meantime, try not to leak or anything.